I Love Layovers...

I'm sitting in the Aviator's Club in Denver International. For those of you who don't know, it's the only place in the airport where you can enjoy a smoke. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm working on it.

Some hammerhead of a woman just walked in here, had a cigarette, and walked out. Ordinarily, that would be of no special note. Unfortunately, this woman was pushing a stroller.

You can see the problem.

One of the waiters told her that their "legal age" policy is strictly enforced. The woman decided it would be a good idea to argue. Freakin' brilliant. The smoker in me has to give her credit, though. She used the time she spent arguing with the waiter to smoke her cigarette. I think the waiter was a breath away from calling airport security when she said "Fine! I'm leaving!"

Some people's kids, I swear.

There's another woman sitting two tables from me, wearing the most ridiculous looking hat I've ever seen. Actually, it's not that ridiculous. It just adopts that special status on her. She's also using a cigarette holder that's a mile long.

I enjoy flying through Denver for this reason. As a photographer, I watch people. Sadly, most or of an ilk I prefer not to photograph, such a Hat Woman. But it's an interesting commentary, I think, on the general appearance of society. People have stopped caring what they look like.

I'm wearing jeans, a button down shirt, and shoes. Nothing fancy, but certainly presentable. Such appears to not be the case with the woman, seated at the bar, wearing sweat pants with the word "JUICY!" spread across her impressively large ass. That's not juice. That's sausage gravy.

A guy at the bar is juggling quarters. Another is leaning almost completely across the bar so he can hear the Yankee game. The guy next to him appears to be either asleep or dead. I truly suspect the former, but the latter would make for a better story.

Oh, my. Hat Woman has a cow-print purse. The woman is the personification of fashion.

Watching people like this makes you wonder how people look at you. I'm rarely concerned with what someone's perception of me is. At 47, it's highly unlikely that I'll be changing any time soon if someone doesn't care for me.

But, for God's sake, the least I can do is dress well...